Page 142 of I'm Your Guy
After warmups, I skate back to the visitors’ bench. That’s a little strange, too. But it’s not like I’m going to accidentally take a seat with my old teammates. This place isn’t home anymore.
I regret nothing.
The announcer calls the starting lineup, beginning with the visiting team. One by one, my teammates are quietly booed, a Trenton tradition.
When it’s my turn, though, the boos are really damn loud. As they die down, I hear a particular piercing voice from the crowd. I’d forgotten about the guy we called Loudmouth Lou. “Welcome back, fucker!” he screams.
I snort with laughter, and then wave to the crowd, as if they’d given me a hero’s welcome. Because fuck it.
Then it’s time for Trenton’s starting lineup. It’s probably no accident that Marco lines up right in front of me. This time the crowd roars its approval. He grins like he’s just won an Oscar.
Then he settles into position and stares at me with so much aggression in his posture that it’s comical. Like he can’t wait to rush across the neutral zone and maul me.
So this is going to be a long night, then. Fine. Whatever.
The national anthem starts, and I stare over my cousin’s head and center myself. I think of Carter watching the game on the sofa he picked out for me. He’s probably sitting there this very minute. The Christmas tree we decorated is by the window, lighting the room with a colorful glow.
He gave me a reason to get through this game without a fight. We’re about to find out if that’s possible. But he’ll still be waiting for me at home either way.
That’s huge for me. So I’ll try not to let him down.
* * *
We win the first faceoff, and Kapski gets a shot on goal within the first two minutes of play. It’s deflected, but the rebound creates an opportunity for Newgate. He shoots.
Denied. The goalie falls on the puck in the crease.
Still, it’s a good start. They’re already scrambling. We like that.
I settle in and try to work the natural advantage of knowing more about this team’s play than most of our other opponents’. There’s Mayhew’s hesitation behind the net. And my cousin’s inability to track a lefthanded sniper’s deke.
The pace of play is fast and furious. We all want this win, and nothing seems off during the scoreless first period. But then both teams score in the second.
We dig in and look for that next goal. I’m blocking their center when I happen to get a look at David Stoneman’s face. He’s furious. And it takes a lot to make Stoney mad.
Whatever happened, I missed it.
“What’s the issue?” I ask at the next stoppage of play.
“Nothing.” He gives his head a shake. “Forget it.”
But I get a look at Newgate a few minutes later, and his face is red with anger, too.
“What’s the deal?” I ask a winger on the bench.
“These assholes,” he says, squirting water into his mouth. “They’re harassing our guys. Newgate’s getting the worst of it.”
“Harassing him how?” I demand.
“Uh, nasty chirps whenever the ref can’t hear it. But also they’re handsy.”
“Handsy?” It’s a contact sport, so I don’t really get it.
He makes a face and looks away.
When I’m back on the ice, I pay closer attention. That’s when I see Newgate field the puck and take a hit. As one does.
It’s not an illegal hit, and not particularly brutal. But right after the hit, I see Orloff’s hand briefly disappear…between Newgate’s legs.
